


Anti-Anxiety

by RandomSlasher (Randomslasher)



Category: Sanders Sides, Thomas Sanders, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Gen, Mild Claustrophobia, Panic Attacks, Self-Hatred, Self-Loathing, mild body horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-14
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2018-12-29 21:28:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12093783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Randomslasher/pseuds/RandomSlasher
Summary: The sides (minus Virgil) convince Thomas to try anti-anxiety medication. Virgil is understandably distraught. Things go downhill from there.





	1. Chapter 1

He wasn’t supposed to know about it. But then, that made sense, didn’t it? If you were planning an assassination, you didn’t invite the target.

It was pure bad luck Virgil had been in earshot when they’d been discussing it in the commons. It was early in the morning--for them, anyway. For him, it had been a restless night, full of the usual worries and fears, plagued by nightmares every time he _had_ drifted off. He’d finally stumbled into the kitchen for a glass of warm milk, thinking it might help him sleep. It worked for Patton sometimes, so maybe it’d work for him.

The others had missed seeing him by inches. Mere seconds after he’d disappeared into the kitchen, he heard them materialize in the commons in mid-conversation. Their words had confused him at first, but as he stood frozen next to the refrigerator and listened, things had come into focus.

“--already sent in the prescription,” Logan was saying, sounding as pleased as he ever did. “It should arrive in the mail in a week.”  

“I’m so glad you got him to try this,” Patton gushed, sounding over-the-moon. “This could help him so much!”

“And there really is no shame in it.” That was Roman. “No one should have to face a foe unarmed. Why, I’d never consider challenging a dragon without my sword!”

“It was a simple matter of re-framing,” Logan said, but Virgil could hear the pride in his voice under the nonchalance. “Neurological conditions are merely chemical imbalances in the brain. They are not character flaws, much as some would try to convince us otherwise.”

“Very true.” Virgil could hear Patton’s beam. “If your tummy hurts, you take tummy medicine!”

“I--yes, I suppose that is the basic principle at work here.”

“Of course it is! Now, the big question is: when do we tell Virgil?”

There was a beat of silence, and Virgil forgot to breathe. He was certain for a moment they would discover him simply by the pounding of his heart, which sounded very loud in his ears.

“I think it would be best if we didn’t,” came Logan’s answer after a long silence.

“I agree. He has a way of...interfering with things.”

“Really?” Patton sounded distraught. “That doesn’t feel very...honest, does it?”

“It’s not a matter of honesty, Patton. It’s a simple matter of withholding strategic information until the ideal moment. If we told him now, it would just upset him, and he would probably do his best to talk Thomas out of it.”

“I...I guess so,” Patton agreed reluctantly. “But I sure don’t like keeping secrets from the kiddo.”

“Patton, you don’t like keeping secrets from anyone.”

“Well, no, I guess not. It just doesn’t feel _right,_  though. Does it?”

“Fine.” That was Roman again. “If you _really_ want to try to explain to Virgil that we’ve convinced Thomas to try taking anti-anxiety medication, be my guest. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

And there it had been, laid out plain and simple. 

Virgil’s breath caught in his throat, and he just barely kept himself from gasping aloud. His ears were ringing as the blood drained from his cheeks, and he briefly wondered if he was going to pass out. 

He closed his eyes and sank from the kitchen quickly, not wanting them to discover he’d overheard their plans, and reappeared in his bedroom, where he sank, weak-kneed, to sit on the edge of his bed.

So. This was what it had come to. After all this time...this was what they really wanted. They’d talked about being his friend--about trying to help him be better, about trying to _understand_ him, to--to _accept_ him. They’d...they’d even said they cared about him, that he made things better, sometimes, but...but when it really came down to it...this was what they actually wanted.

They wanted him gone.

Virgil had curled up on his bed that day, and the tears had come: cloying, wracking sobs that made his whole body quake as his fragile worldview came crumbling down. Everything they’d said, everything they’d told him--it had all been a lie. All of it. And...and now...

And now they were going to...going to what? Kill him? He supposed so, in a way. He couldn’t technically die, but...but he could be Suppressed, and for a side, that amounted to the same thing, didn’t it? Suppressed sides lost their agency and became automated drones: called upon to perform the most basic of their functions only, but not free to have any input of their own. And when they were not needed, they were shelved.

Virgil would be imprisoned: locked away in a kind of stasis where he would not be able to move, or think, or...or anything. He would just _exist_. Barely.

And this was what the others wanted.

He’d cried himself out, that first day--cried until he physically could not cry anymore. And for the next few days after that, he kept himself locked in his room, unable to face the others with this new knowledge. Unable to look into their smiling faces as they pretended to welcome him, to accept him, while in reality plotting his demise. 

But soon he’d realized that was stupid. One week, Logan had said. One week, until his life effectively came to an end. Why would he want to waste it by staying locked away? 

So maybe the others didn’t love him, or even like him. He still loved _them_. And maybe it was selfish, to force his presence on them when he’d learned it wasn’t wanted, but...but if this _was_ his last week, he wanted at least one more chance to be with them. To be _better_. He didn’t really think he could change their minds, but at least...at least he could say goodbye, in his way. 

And so he’d emerged fro his room and sought them out. He couldn’t let them know that he knew of their plans, of course--they’d feel awkward, maybe guilty, maybe even angry, and he really did want their last times together to be pleasant. Because maybe...maybe he’d be able to remember them, when he was locked away in his frozen stupor. Maybe he could turn to those memories for solace. 

And maybe they’d think on him fondly from time to time. Maybe they’d remember him as something other than the villain. 

He just had to give them a reason to do so.

With Patton, he’d shyly asked if they could spend a few hours baking--one of the Moral side’s favorite pastimes. Patton had seemed delighted (if a little surprised) by Virgil’s request, and they’d spent a wonderful afternoon in the kitchen, mixing ingredients and getting flour on everything and laughing and sneaking bites of raw cookie dough. Virgil had let Patton pick all of his favorite treats, and he’d tried every last one of them--even the oatmeal raisin cookies, which had been surprisingly good after all. When it was over, Patton had pulled him into a hug and thanked him warmly for spending time with his ‘old dad,’ which Virgil knew was supposed to make him laugh. But he hadn’t been able to do more than cling to Patton for a few moments and nod hard, before disappearing quickly so he could hide his tears (though not before mumbling a quick, “love you, Dad” into Patton’s ear). 

Logan’s time was a little more subdued, but no less enjoyable: he’d wandered to the logical side’s room, which was mostly piles and piles of books, and asked if he could hang out and read while Logan worked. Logan had looked at him askance, obviously surprised, but had agreed nonetheless, and Virgil had spent an afternoon holding a book in his lap and not reading a word of it while he’d tried his best to soak in everything about Logan: the way he hunched over his desk, scribbling into his leather-bound schedule book; the way his hair fell into his eyes and the way he blew it back with frustrated little ‘pffts’ of air; the way he stuck out his tongue when he was thinking, and the little ‘aha!’ noise he made when he had a new idea. Virgil filed it all away, and when it had started to get late, he’d reluctantly excused himself (making Logan jump: apparently he’d forgotten Virgil was there) and thanked Logan for letting him stay. 

Roman’s day--the day before the medication was due to arrive--was spent watching Disney movies and debating their messages again, though the debate was far friendlier than it had been the first time around. This time, Roman seemed willing to listen to Virgil’s point of view, and Virgil had done his best to extend the same courtesy to Roman, and it had been late before the royal had finally started to yawn and had excused himself to go to bed. Virgil had watched him go, fighting further tears, and whispered, “Goodnight,” in reply to Roman’s own well-wishes. He’d headed to his own room after Roman had retreated, and grabbed a notebook and a ballpoint pen. 

He had one more job to do. 

*

Now, sitting on the edge of his bed, he glanced down at the note in his hands. He’d stayed up all night, writing draft after draft, and he thought what he had was pretty good, if perhaps a little melancholy. But he hoped they could forgive him that, because he didn’t think he could do any better (and this draft, at least, was unmarred by teardrops. Well, mostly.)

He bit his lip, reading it over one more time.

 _Guys,_  

_This isn’t an easy letter for me to write, but I hope you will hear me out._

_I have a confession to make. I overheard you in the commons last week. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I was in the kitchen and I couldn’t help listen in, and...I know Thomas is about to start on anti-anxiety medication. I just want you to know I understand, and I support the decision._

_I know I can be difficult to deal with. I’ve tried to be better, but I know I still interfere where I shouldn’t, and that I cause you all a lot of pain and frustration. Please know I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to interfere with his life, or yours, any longer._

_I understand why you did not want to tell me, but I really do only want what’s best for everyone. If you have all decided that what’s best is to be rid of me, then I completely understand._

_I also would like to promise you that I will cooperate._ _I read somewhere that most anti-anxiety medications need time to build up in the system, so I’ll stay in my room until it does. I’ve got some food stashed away in here and some water in case it takes more than a few days to work. I think once I’ve been Suppressed I won’t need it anymore, so that won’t matter then._

_I realize this is getting a little bit rambly. What I’m basically trying to say is you do not have to worry about me fighting this, okay? I understand why you want this, and I promise I’ll go quietly._

_I do not hold this against you. I hope you don’t worry about that. Especially you, Patton. I know you worry about doing what’s right, but...but this IS right. This is what’s best. You can rest assured of that._

_If I have any conscious thought where I’m going, I’ll think on you guys fondly. I hope you might someday be able to do the same for me._

_Please take care of Thomas for me, and of each other. If I know you are all safe and happy, then I’ll be happy, too._

_I know I never said it, but I love you guys so much._

_Goodbye,_

_Virgil_

He swallowed and nodded to himself, folding the paper in half. He popped into the commons--it was too early for anyone else to be up yet--and deposited the note on the coffee table where he was sure they would see it, then popped back into his bedroom and curled up on his side in bed. He held the card Patton had given him tight in his hands, gazing at the childlike drawing inside, and the three letters that had come to mean so much to him, drawn under the big red heart. 

_I L Y_

He didn’t know if he would retain any memories. But if he did...he wanted this to be the last thing he saw. 

Even if it was slightly obscured by the tears that fell slowly and steadily from his eyes.

* 


	2. Chapter 2

He was dissolving. That was the only way Virgil could think to describe the sensation.

He lay in his bed, on his back, staring at the ceiling, and he couldn’t move, because…because there wasn’t enough _of_ him left to move. He was dissolving, like…like he’d been made of sugar and someone had just pushed him into the rain, or (more accurately) like he’d been made of dust and ash and now stood in a great wind storm, buffeted by gusts that took little bits of him at a time. His edges were crumbling, flaking away, and soon there would be nothing left.

_This is it._

He wanted to close his eyes but he couldn’t. His eyelids were gone. Had he ever had any at all? Did he even still have eyes? He could see nothing at all, and he could see _everything_. The weight of his body was vanishing, and his consciousness was beginning to spread, no longer contained in a physical vessel.

_I’m reintegrating._

Of course. Of _course_. He would not simply be _suppressed_ –that would never be enough for someone like him. He was being literally torn apart, taken down to his core functions, and they were being reintegrated into the greater consciousness of Thomas, to become a part of his automated machinery once more. He was losing everything that made him _him_. That made him _unique,_ a distinct part of a personality as a whole with a personality of his own. He would lose himself completely.

In every way that counted, he really _would_ die.

Virgil felt a sweeping sort of peace wash over him. If he’d still had eyes, he would have closed them in relief. This was better, then. He would have no memories because he wouldn’t exist, but…but that would also mean he’d have no pain. He wouldn’t have to live with himself–with the daily agony of knowing, _knowing,_ that everything about him was _bad_ and _mean_ and _wrong_. He wouldn’t have to continue to exist as the hated villain of the person he was meant to protect. Instead, his core functions, the reflexes  that _were_ there to protect, would continue to do their jobs, and…and Virgil would be…

Gone.

 _Good_.

The others were right. It was better this way. 

He relaxed, accepting his fate, as the effects of the drug continued to chip away at him. How long had it been? Minutes? Weeks? He honestly had no idea. Time didn’t exist for him anymore. It flowed around him, like a river around a rock, wearing him down bit by bit, but he couldn’t experience it anymore. There wasn’t enough left of him to feel it passing. There wasn’t–

_A breath, a sigh--one last sigh, the air escaping his lips and then they turned to dust, to motes of light, swirling through the air and vanishing like a bad dream, and the rest of him followed, followed, until--_

_Gone._

_He was gone. His body was gone._

Virgil would have gasped if he could have.

His body was gone, and he…he…

 _I_ …

 _I am. I still…am. I…still_ am.

He had no eyes. But somehow he could…he could see. It wasn’t the same as seeing with eyes–it was nowhere as limited as all that. But his consciousness was stretched throughout the mindscape, settling into its corners, and he could… _see_ it. All of it at once. He was _everywhere_. 

This…this wasn’t right. He was supposed to be gone. Dissolved. Reintegrated.

Why did he still exist? Why was he still _here_?

He was in the commons. 

It was silent, and empty. His note sat on the coffee table.

_Had they found it? And they read it?_

He couldn’t say. By all appearances, It sat exactly where he’d left it, still folded, the words _from Virgil_ scrawled on the back. Had they not seen? How long had it been? He felt like his deconstruction had taken ages, _eons_  even. Time could be an illusion in the mind, but surely the’d had time to find it? 

And if they’d found it...then they would have read it. They were Virgil’s last words to them. No matter how little they liked him, surely they would have read his last letter, his goodbye. 

Wouldn’t they?

Before he could puzzle out the answer, there was a  _whoosh_ in the commons and the others appeared. Virgil could see them from every angle, from all around them. He was next to them and above them and beneath them. He was _with_ them.

For a shining moment, hope filled Virgil’s mind. He wasn’t gone. Not completely. He had no body and he couldn’t act–he was effectively a ghost–but he wasn’t _alone_. He was here, and he was with them, and he could still be with them--still watch over them. He couldn’t help them, no, and he couldn’t interact with them at all, but...but he could at least be _with_ them, witness their triumphs, mourn their losses. _Love_  them.

Whatever it was of him that lingered--his mind, his heart, his soul, whatever--filled with a kind of joy at this revelation. 

But that joy would turn out to be short-lived.

“–wouldn’t have thought this would work so well, and so quickly!” Roman was saying. He was beaming, as they materialized still mid-conversation. As Virgil watched, the royal sauntered over to Virgil’s chair ( _not mine now, not mine, just a chair, just any old chair now)_  and sprawled out gracefully. 

“No,” Logan agreed, moving to settle onto the couch; Patton, looking a little more sedate, sat down beside him. “But I’m not going to complain. This is a more favorable outcome than even I had anticipated.”

“I guess so,” Patton sighed, his shoulders drooping sadly. 

“What’s the matter, Patton?” Roman said. “I should think you of all people would be beside yourself. Thomas has never been happier!”

Patton shrugged. “I guess I’m just still getting used to him being…gone.”

Virgil felt a wave of awe and gratitude, and immediately hated himself for it. He should not want them to miss him. That would only cause them pain. They should be happy he was gone.

But...but it _was_ nice to be missed. If he’d still had a mouth, he would have smiled; as it was, he felt a renewed surge of affection toward Patton. 

“Oh.” Roman frowned. “I mean...it is an adjustment, I suppose, but...but change can be good, remember? Besides,” he added, “in this case, it was necessary. Anxiety was a nuisance. And he was _always_ bringing you down, Patton.” 

Virgil’s spirit wilted a little. Roman’s words were true, yes, but that didn’t mean they didn’t sting a little. 

 _I never wanted to_ , he begged silently. _I promise. I never wanted to hurt any of you._

“That wasn’t his fault,” Patton hedged, but when Logan looked at him with an arched eyebrow, Patton sighed and slumped. “Okay…I guess maybe it was. But I still feel bad for the kiddo.”

“I could see that. He _was_ pretty pitiful.”

If Virgil could have jumped, he would have. As it was, his focus sharpened on Roman, a startled wave of hurt washing through him. _Pitiful...?_  

“Roman,” Logan said sternly, and for a moment Virgil believed Logan was going to defend him, but then the logical side said, “not in front of Patton, please. You’ll upset him.”

_Oh._

Virgil had no body, so he could not slump or lower his head or wrap his arms around himself. But he was beginning to understand that not having a body did not make him immune to pain.

_At least Patton was standing up for–_

Patton sighed. “No,” he said, waving aside Logan’s protests, “Roman’s right. He _was_ kind of...well, pitiful, at least in the sense that I certainly pitied him. That was my whole problem. I was too easy on him, and...and I let Thomas believe we should try to include him. It was my fault Thomas suffered for so long.” 

“Now, now,” Logan said softly, squeezing Patton’s shoulder. “We all make mistakes, Pat.” 

“Some more than others,” Roman added, and Logan shot him a glare. Roman’s eyes widened defensively. “What? I’m just saying--”

“No, he’s right,” Patton said again. “I should have seen sooner what was really happening. I just can’t help feel...guilty, I guess.” 

“Guilty?” Logan said gently. 

Patton nodded. He leaned forward and picked up the note from the coffee table, flipping it open. “ _If I have any conscious thought where I’m going, I’ll think on you guys fondly,”_ he read aloud. “ _I hope you might someday be able to do the same for me.”_ Patton sighed and handed the note to Logan, shrugging. “Poor kiddo really thought he was one of us right until the end. And that was my fault.”  

And there it was. Virgil felt shock waves traveling through his consciousness, painful as any physical sensation he’d ever experienced. He wanted to go. He wanted to flee, to leave, to be _anywhere else_ but–but he was _everywhere_ now, and there was no escaping this. No hiding from it.

Logan sighed and nodded, glancing down at the note. “ _I promise I’ll go quietly,”_ he read. “ _You do not have to worry about me fighting this._  Hmm. For a fight-or-flight reflex, he sure didn’t have much of a sense of self-preservation, did he?”

Roman chuckled, and even Patton smiled a little, shrugging. “I guess not,” he said. “Still…it’s sort of disappointing, isn’t it?”

_Disappointing…?_

“Yes, it is,” Logan said, tossing the note back onto the coffee table. “But it’s over now. He’s gone, and Thomas is happier already, and things are only going to get better from now on.” He reached out and squeezed Patton’s shoulder, and Patton nodded to himself.

“You’re right. No more moping,” he agreed, hopping to his feet. He clapped his hands together. “Who wants cookies? I’m in the mood to bake, that always cheers me up.”

The other two laughed and agreed, and they all went into the kitchen, and Virgil was there, too–he couldn’t not be. He listened to them laughing and talking, carefree and happy. He saw Roman smearing a streak of flour over Patton’s nose, and watched as Patton retaliated by dusting powdered sugar in Roman’s hair. He watched as Logan read the ingredients to them from the same cookbook Virgil and Patton had used, before–before–

_Before they got rid of me._

And as they worked, they did not mention him again. As they laughed and joked with one another and teased, they did not speak his name or recollect happy times together or even disparage him again. He was simply...forgotten. Like he’d never existed at all. 

And Virgil was finally beginning to understand that was the way it always should have been. The way everyone-- _everyone_ \--had always wanted it to be. 

He didn’t have eyes anymore, so he couldn’t produce tears. But as he drifted silently in the mindscape, listening to them laugh and watching them celebrate his demise, he realized there was more than one way to cry. 

*


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Self-loathing, panic attacks, mild claustrophobia, swearing

Time passed. 

Virgil couldn’t say how much or how little. It would dilate: sometimes he felt like he’d been there for eons, and sometimes he felt like he had been there for moments, no longer than the span of a breath or a heartbeat. He was nowhere and he was everywhere. He felt nothing, and he felt _everything_. 

The others were there, and then they weren’t. He couldn’t enter their rooms (they were apparently off-limits even in his non-corporeal state) but they spent plenty of time in the commons. 

They seemed...happy. When they were together, they looked good. Healthy. They smiled a lot. They laughed. They got along beautifully. There was no discord, no strife, no arguments. Only bliss. Only harmony. 

Things were perfect in Thomas’s mind without him. They had never needed him after all. They never would again. They were happy. 

_Never needed me never never never useless I was always useless I--_

_(Virgil.)_

The days folded themselves into moments. The moments stretched out longer than years. The years passed in fractions of a second. Virgil was everywhere and nowhere. Virgil was--

_useless worthless hated me they hated me they always--_

_(Virgil!)_

Virgil was...

_lost gone dead lost scared scared scared_

_(Virgil! Snap out of it already, would you?!)_

...confused. 

_I’m confused._

_(Well, that’s a start.)_

_“Wh--?”  
_

Virgil opened his eyes. 

_Eyes. He had eyes. I had...have..._

_(Eyes, yes. Congratulations. You’ve always had them.)_

“What...?” 

He was...was lying on his back, in his bedroom, looking at the ceiling. He was... _breathing_. He was...he was...

_(You’re taking your sweet fucking time waking up is what you’re doing. C’mon, Virgil, snap out of it. I need your help, here.)_

Virgil sucked in a deep breath and frowned ( _a mouth he had a mouth and lips and lungs and--)_

_(Yeah, and a head, shoulders, knees and toes, we get it. You’ve got a body, Virgil, you’re gonna have to move past this already.)_

He brought a hand to his head. The voice was coming from...from inside him and outside him and he couldn’t pinpoint it, but he knew it. He recognized it. He--

 _(All right, fine. Let’s speed this up a little, shall we?)_  

The air in front of him shimmered, and Virgil watched with growing alarm, then outright disbelief. 

Because standing there in his bedroom, at the foot of his bed, was--was--

_Wh...?_

Virgil sat up quickly, going tense with alarm and bewilderment. The figure before him spread his arms and arched his eyebrows at him. “Ta-dah,” it said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Have you figured this out yet?” 

“But...but you’re...” Virgil stammered. “You’re...” 

“I’m you. Yes.” 

Virgil blinked and stared. His doppelganger stared back, fringe of purple hair falling over his face, lips quirked into Virgil’s trademark wry not-smile. 

“I...I don’t...” 

“Understand? No, I suspect you don’t.” Virgil--Other Virgil--walked over to the side of the bed and reached out to him. Virgil hesitated, until Other Virgil finally said, “Look, I’m not going to bite you, okay?” 

Virgil frowned, and accepted the offered hand, letting himself be pulled to his feet. 

“What’s...what’s going on?” he asked warily. 

Other Virgil snorted and rolled his eyes, before moving away from him, over to the wall. “Before I answer that--or try to, anyway--let me ask you a question. What’s wrong with this picture?” He spread his arms to display his surroundings. 

“You mean...” Virgil brushed his hair back, and barked a huff of not-quite-laughter. “You mean aside from the fact that there are two of me, I’m guessing?” 

“Yeah, genius. Aside from that.” 

Virgil blinked at...himself...and then did a slow turn, taking in the room around them. Something _was_ off about it, though Virgil couldn’t quite figure out why he thought so--everything appeared to be in its proper place, from the clothes in his closet to the anime poster on the back of his--

Wait.

_There’s no--_

“Bingo,” Other Virgil said, knocking on the wall over the poster. 

The wall that should have been a door. 

“There’s no door,” Virgil whispered. 

“That’s right, Einstein. No door.” 

“We’re trapped.” 

“Yep.” 

There was no door. 

They were trapped. 

They were--

He couldn’t breathe. Abruptly, a wall of panic slammed into him, and he gasped, staggering backwards until his thighs hit the mattress and he sat down with a thump. They were locked in, and--and was there even enough air in here...? He dragged in a gulp but even though his lungs were painfully full it wasn’t _enough,_ was it? 

_Oh God, oh God..._

“Dammit--Virgil. _Stop,”_ Other Virgil hissed, bringing a hand up to his chest, and took several deep, steadying breaths; as he did so, Virgil felt his own racing heart beginning to grow slower and steadier. 

_Huh._

“Try not to do that, would you?” his other gasped after a moment. “You’re just going to make this harder for us. 

“But we’re _trapped_ ,” Virgil said again, his mind still spinning around that reality. Come to think of it, was the room looking a bit smaller than usual...? 

“No. Don’t. Don’t start thinking like that. You’ll send us both into an attack.” Other Virgil straightened, recovering from their shared panic, and knocked on the wall again. “But yes, unfortunately. We are trapped. For some time now, actually. Hours. Maybe even days. I’m not sure; it’s kind of hard to tell in here.” 

“Days...?” 

“Uh huh.” 

“We’ve been trapped for days?” 

The other Virgil frowned. “You know, talking to you is sort of disappointing,” he said, arching an eyebrow. “I always thought I was a better conversationalist than this.” 

Virgil scowled, his irritation making his panic fade a little. “Hey. Give the insults a rest, would you?” he snapped. “I’m just trying to understand what’s happening, here.” 

The Other Virgil arched his eyebrows, but he smiled. “Okay,” he said. “Fair enough. Let me fill you in on what I know. This place? Where we are now? This isn’t really your room.” 

“But...” Virgil frowned, looking around again. Apart from the missing door, it _looked_  like it, but--

Oh. 

“Are...is this...are we in stasis?” he said softly, heart sinking. “Suppressed?” 

“No. Well--yes, I guess. Sort of. But drugs didn’t put us here, Virgil,” Other Virgil folded his arms and scowled. “ _You_ did.” 

“Me?” 

“What are you, in echo mode today?” 

Virgil glared at him. “Well, maybe if you stopped speaking in _riddles_ and told me what the hell was going on, I’d get around to asking some more interesting questions,” he snapped. 

Inexplicably, that made the other him grin again. He moved over and sat next to Virgil on the bed, looking pleased. “All right,” he said. “Fair enough. What do you want to know?” 

“Well...I guess...for starters, who are you?” Virgil asked. 

“What on earth do you mean?” Other Virgil spread his hands, putting his body on display. “I’m _you_.” 

“No, you’re not. _I’m_ me. Aren’t I?” 

“I never said you weren’t.” 

“Okay,” Virgil said, frustration growing again. “Then why are there _two_  of me, genius?” 

Other Virgil shrugged. “You got me. Maybe because you’re having an identity crisis?” 

“Identity crisis?” 

“You’ve seriously got to stop repeating everything I say.” 

“Then start saying shit that makes sense!” Virgil snapped. 

Other Virgil smirked. “Okay,” he said. “You want to know what I know? Here it is: I woke up here. You were lying on the bed staring at the ceiling and the whole room was...” he made a spinning motion with his hands. “I don’t know. Sort of swirling. Anyway, I couldn’t get your attention, so I tried to figure out how to get out of here. Turns out I can’t. Not like this.” 

“Why...why not?” Virgil breathed softly. 

“I’m not sure, but best guess? Because you broke us. You divided us in two and until we reconcile, we can’t leave.” Other Virgil shrugged and looked at him. 

Virgil frowned at him. “Okay,” he said, brushing his bangs back from his face nervously in a gesture he’d picked up from Thomas. Or had Thomas picked it up from him? “So how do we...reconcile? Who are you, exactly?” 

“Best I can figure, talking to you? I’m your confidence. Your self esteem. Your sense of self-worth.” 

“I have a sense of worth?” 

“I know. Shocker, right?” Other Virgil rolled his eyes. “I haven’t always been very strong, but I’ve grown recently. So when you suddenly started regressing, suppressing me again, it was...weird.”  

“Hold up.” Virgil lifted his hands. “Are you trying to tell me that you’re a _side_  of me? That the _sides_  have sides? What the hell are we, Russian nesting dolls?” 

Other Virgil snorted, smirking. “Who the hell knows? I don’t make the rules. But again, if I had to guess, I’d say no. I’m not a side of you. I’m a _piece_  of you. You aren’t whole right now. Neither am I. I guess you’re also technically a piece of me. We’re two halves of a whole, but we usually exist as a single piece. And I think to get out of here, we have to be a single piece again.” 

“How the heck do we do _that_?” 

Other Virgil looked at the sealed room around them, then at Virgil, and shook his head. 

“Honestly?” he said softly. “I have no idea.” 

* 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Self-loathing, negative self-talk, swearing

Silence stretched between them for a long, weighted second. Then, Virgil sputtered: “You don’t--what do you _mean_  you have no _idea_?” 

Other Virgil shrugged, giving him a sidelong look. “I _mean_ I don’t _know_ ,” he said. “Dude. I’m not a wise old sage or anything, here. I’m a piece of you. Literally my only advantage is I’ve been awake the last few hours or days or however long we’ve been in here, and you’ve been off in la la land.” 

“La la land?” Virgil frowned, shaking his head slowly. “I--I wasn’t...I was out there. In the mindscape.”

“Pretty sure you were in here drooling at the ceiling, buddy.” 

“No, I don’t mean physically,” Virgil said, annoyed. “I didn’t have a body, I was just sort of...floating.” 

“The Ghost of Anxiety. Spooky.”

Virgil pointedly ignored him. “I could... _see_  the others, hear them talking about m--about us,” he continued. 

“Huh.” Other Virgil frowned. “Well, what’s going on, then? Are they trying to get to us?” 

Virgil slumped, lowering his eyes, and shook his head. “No,” he said softly, as their words--and the accompanying pain--returned. 

“No?” Other Virgil looked surprised. “Why the hell not? Last time I--we--disappeared, they came after us almost immediately.” 

“Because we were hurting Thomas, that time,” Virgil said with a soft sigh. He’d had time to think it through, while he’d been out there, and he was pretty sure he’d figured it out. “This time...I think whatever the medication is doing, it’s keeping us in check, but not completely eliminating our presence for Thomas.” He quirked his lips into a small half-smile. “It’s win-win. They get all the benefits of Anxiety with none of my--our--pitfalls.” 

“Huh.” Other Virgil frowned.

“Yeah,” Virgil said softly, wrapping his arms around himself with a sigh.

“I guess we’ll have to figure out how to get out of here ourselves, then.”

Virgil lifted his head sharply, startled. “What?”

“If they’re not coming in after us, we’ll have to find a way out,” Other Virgil said, speaking slowly and staring at him like _he_  was the one who’d lost his senses. “Duh.” 

“But...but you...you still _want_  to escape?”

“Um...yes?” Other Virgil stared at him in surprise. “I don’t want to spend the rest of my life in here. Do you?” 

“I mean...no, I guess not, but...” Virgil shrugged, lowering his eyes, his throat tightening. “It sure seems like everyone _else_ would prefer it if we did.” 

“What do you mean?” 

Virgil swallowed, hugging himself as his eyes began to sting. “When I was out there,” he said softly. “With them. The things they said...” he shook his head and released a shuddery sigh. “They wanted us gone. The medication, it...it worked exactly the way they wanted it to. They’re glad we’re not around anymore. They said so.” 

Other Virgil was silent for a second. Then he spoke, his voice soft and uncertain. “Even...even Patton?” 

Virgil felt his face crumpling as the Moral side’s words returned to him: _poor kiddo really thought he was one of us._ He nodded. “Yeah,” he said. “Even Patton.” 

Other Virgil was quiet for a very long time, and Virgil nodded to himself. He’d gotten through to that stubborn little part of himself at last, it seemed. What good was a sense of self-worth if no one else believed it? If the very things that had built it up in the first place turned out to be lies?

“So,” Virgil sighed, glancing over at the other and giving him a sad, wry smile, “I guess we should get comfortable, huh? Monopoly?”

But the other Virgil was scowling now. He surged to hit feet abruptly, and shook his head. “Nah,” he said, voice firm. “Nah, I”m calling bullshit on that. 

Virgil arched his brows in surprise. “Bullshit?”

“Yeah. Bullshit. I don’t know what you think you saw or heard, but you’re wrong. There’s no fucking _way_...” 

“I'm not wrong,” Virgil countered, frowning up at his counterpart, who had begun pacing the room in agitation. “They were literally talking about how much better it was without m--without us. That’d be pretty damn hard to misinterpret.” 

“Then how do you know what you heard was even real?” Other Virgil whirled on him. “How do you know it wasn’t all just some--some dream or something?” 

“It felt pretty damned real.” 

“Don’t most dreams, while you’re in them?” 

“I mean...” Virgil shrugged, frowning as a tiny little flicker of hope ignited deep inside him. He tried to quash it, but it persisted stubbornly. Hope was always a stubborn emotion. “I guess...I guess _theoretically_ , it could’ve been a dream, but...” He frowned suddenly. “But the medication thing-- _that_ wasn’t a dream. That was real. Right? You would’ve been there, too. You saw it. _That_ was real.” 

Other Virgil rolled his eyes, but reluctantly shrugged and nodded. “Yeah, that was real,” he admitted.

“So,” Virgil concluded, the flicker diminishing considerably inside him, “wouldn’t it follow that the medication working, and everyone being happy about it--wouldn’t that mean that was real, too?” 

“I don’t know,” Other Virgil made a frustrated noise, somewhere between a growl and a groan, and raked his hands back through his hair. “Look, all I know is, medication or not, I am not staying here.” 

“You’d rather go back where we aren’t _wanted_?” Virgil said, hugging himself again. “Where they are actively trying to get rid of us?” 

“Well...yeah.” Other Virgil looked at him, and Virgil looked back, and he couldn’t see his own face but he guessed they were wearing matching expressions of confusion. Other Virgil shook his head. “You’re really telling me you _wouldn’t_? That you’d rather stay... _here_?” 

“They don’t _like_  us, though,” Virgil said, huddling in on himself a little. 

“So?” 

Virgil didn’t have a reply for that. He could only stare, open-mouthed, as Other Virgil continued:

“They don’t _have_ to _like_ us. We can still figure out a way to work together that doesn’t mean locking me--us--up in a fucking _prison_  forever, right?” 

“I...I guess...but...but isn’t it _wrong_?” Virgil blurted. “To force ourselves on them when they hate us?” 

“Isn’t it wrong to force _us_  into a miserable existence just because we disagree with them?” Other Virgil countered. 

“I...I mean...” Virgil shrugged, looking away. “That’s different.” 

“Why?” 

“Because we’re...we’re... _us._  We’re _me_. We’re everything that’s _wrong_ with Thomas.” He shook his head, staring up at the other half of himself. “We’re _evil_ , and we keep him from doing the things he wants to do, and we make him lose sleep and worry too much and--”

“And we stop him from doing stupid shit that might get him hurt or killed,” Other Virgil cut him off, speaking slowly, like he was addressing a child. “We’re his fight-or-flight response, his reminder to be alert when he’s walking down a dark alleyway, or hell, to put on his fucking seatbelt when he gets in the damn car. We’re important, Virgil. He _needs_  us.” 

“No, he doesn’t.” Virgil’s voice broke, going soft and high. “He needs some of our functions, maybe, but...but he doesn’t need _us_. They’re all much happier now. Trust me.” He shook his head, looking away. “Look, I’m...I’m sorry you’re stuck here with me, but...but this is where we belong, so we might as well get used to it.” 

“Bullshit.” 

Virgil flinched. 

“No, I mean it, man. That is _bullshit_. Look--even if I believed you really saw what you saw--and I’m not saying I do--we don’t deserve this.” 

“We _do_ , though. Everything we’ve done--”

“Has been to _protect Thomas_ ,” Other Virgil growled. He stalked up to Virgil and grabbed his shoulders, forcing him to face...himself. “You’re seriously telling me you think we deserve to be locked away in solitary confinement for the rest of our lives because--what, we got a little over-enthusiastic? A little over-protective? _We don’t deserve this,_  Virgil!” 

Virgil opened his mouth, then closed it again. Seeing his own face, passionate and enraged, glaring down at him--it was surreal, and it was completely throwing off his ability to reason and argue. 

Either that or the Other Virgil _was_  his ability to reason and argue, because he had no trouble continuing: “Even _if_  the others really feel the way you seem to think they do, we don’t deserve this. And if they think we do, then honestly, _fuck them_ , because they’re wrong. But I don’t think they do, because when it comes down to it, they’re part of Thomas, just like we are, and Thomas is a good person.”

“But...but we’re the bad part of him,” Virgil tried again, even though his argument was beginning to feel flimsy even to him. Okay, maybe he wasn’t always the best at it, but he really _had_  only been aiming to protect Thomas, even when he was being mean about it. It was his job to keep him safe, and he’d employ whatever tools he needed--even if those tools resulted in Thomas and the others hating him. But did that really make him bad?

“We’re _not_  bad, and you know it,” Other Virgil said, apparently seeing something on Virgil’s face, because he was nodding. “We protect him. And we don’t need to be liked to do our job, either, because our job is more important than some fucking popularity contest. We’re here to keep Thomas safe, and if that means making unpopular decisions sometimes, well--fine. Fuck it. I’d rather the rest of them be angry at us and _safe_  than have them get hurt because we wanted them to _like_  us.” 

Virgil stared at himself, letting his words sink in. And, little by little, he realized they made sense. 

So maybe the others didn’t like him. Fine. Maybe Thomas hated him. Okay. That...that _hurt_ , but...but that could be okay, too, because...because at the end of the day, making Thomas like him was _not his job_. 

And at the end of the day...maybe he _did_  deserve better than...than _this_. 

“Okay,” he whispered, staring up at himself. 

“Okay?” Other Virgil looked surprised. “Really?” 

“I mean...yeah. Really. I guess.” He shrugged. “I...you...may have a point.” 

Other Virgil stared at him for a second, then grinned, broadly. “Damn right I do,” he said. “I’m your _smart_  half.” 

Virgil rolled his eyes, and ducked his head, scrubbing at his cheeks. He wasn’t sure when he’d started crying; fortunately, Other Virgil seemed willing to let it go. 

“So...so what do we do?” he said, voice wavering a little. 

“Well, like I said before,” Other Virgil said, “I think we--you and me--have to reconcile. We’re split in half right now. This room...it’s containing us, I think, while we’re splintered like this. And until we’re in one piece again, we can’t leave.” 

“Okay? So...what do we do, a fusion dance or something?” 

Other Virgil snorted. “Who knows? All I can say is I better not have to kiss you.” 

“Har har.” 

Other Virgil glanced at him, and his face turned serious. “Hey,” he said softly. “Listen. I know...I know you’ve never liked us very much. But while we’re separated, just...let me say this. We’re not a bad guy.” 

Virgil felt his cheeks color and he looked away. 

“No, stop that. I mean it.” Other Virgil reached out and laid a hand on Virgil’s shoulder. “Look at me.” 

Virgil did, reluctantly. Other Virgil smiled slightly. “We’re not. _You’re_ not. You have value. You have a purpose. _We_  have a purpose. And if the others really don’t see that yet, well...fuck them. We’ll _make_  them see. Together. Okay?” 

Virgil giggled brokenly, and nodded, reaching up to scrub his cheeks again as a few more pesky tears slipped free.”You sound like a Disney channel show,” he mumbled. 

“No. I sound like Thomas.”

Virgil giggled again. “Same thing.”

“Good point.” Other Virgil smiled gently. “So? You good?”

Virgil thought about it for a moment. Then he nodded, slowly. “Yeah,” he said, surprised to find he meant it. Things weren’t perfect yet, not by any means--he was still hurt by what the others had done, and it was probably going to take time to trust them again, but...but he thought he owed it to himsef to try. “I think I am. Or at least...I will be.” 

Other Virgil grinned. “Good,” he said. “I’ll take it. Hey...c’mere, okay?” He held out his arms. 

Virgil swallowed and made a show of rolling his eyes, but let himself be dragged into Other Virgil’s arms, leaning in to rest his head against his own shoulder. 

At least, that was the plan. But when he did so, the shoulder wasn’t there. He heard--felt--a gasp, and suddenly--suddenly the room began to shake, the walls melting around them and beginning to swirl around them, caught up in some kind of invisible current. 

“What--what’s happening?” he cried, looking over at the other Virgil. And then he screamed, because that Virgil was going insubstantial, his edges flickering, bits of him being swept away and into the growing vortex around them. Other Virgil’s eyes were wide, and he looked back at Virgil and said, urgently, “It’s falling apart.” 

“What-- _what’s_  falling apart?” Virgil cried. 

“This place--all of it. Us!” 

“Us?!” 

“Your hands! Look at your hands!” 

Virgil did, lifting them, and screamed again: his fingers were disintegrating, dissolving, turning to tiny particles that were also being swept away to join the swirling chaos around them. 

“What--what do we do?” Virgil’s voice cracked. 

Other Virgil shook his head, stepping closer, face intense. “We’re going back,” he said. “We’re getting _out_  of here.” 

“We’re--?” 

“Yes.” Other Virgil reached out and put his hands on Virgil’s shoulders. Virgil could feel the touch, but only just barely, as their bodies grew more and more insubstantial by the moment. “Virgil, listen to me. Remember what we talked about, okay? I’ll be with you, I’ll _be_ you, but--but you have to work at this, too. You have to _listen_  to me. You are important. You are valuable. _You are needed_. Okay?” 

Virgil nodded, terrified and elated at once, as he stepped closer to his Other self. “I...I’ll try. I promise.” 

Other Virgil grinned broadly, and nodded. “Then let’s get the hell out of here, huh?” 

Virgil beamed and nodded, and as one, they stepped together, their bodies merging, shifting, binding together, and--

 _He was tumbling, flying,_ falling _, lost in a sea of color and darkness, thoughts and feelings and emotions mixing up and swirling together and he was lost but he was coming together again, coming back to himself, reforming from the ground up. He was being remade, he was being re_ born _, he was--_

_He was..._

He _was._

Virgil gasped, and opened his eyes. 

He was lying on his side in his bed, his heart pounding and his chest heaving as if he’d just run a marathon. Clutched in one hand, scant inches from his face, was the card Patton had given him, with its childlike drawing and the large, colorful letters _I L Y_  under the big red heart. 

And behind him, the sound finally registering through the roaring rush of his own blood in his ears: the desperate pounding of fists against his door, and three frantic voices calling his name. 

* 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Panic attacks (mild), claustrophobia (mild), yelling, crying, arguing, fighting, anger, angst, self-deprecating thoughts and language, accusations

It took a few seconds for the world to right itself--for his consciousness to merge into a single entity once more. But once it did, he sat bolt upright, adrenaline sending a shock of alarm through him as his body responded to the urgency in others’ voices, and their frantic pounding. It sounded like they were trying to break it down, and Virgil felt his throat closing up a little as his body tried to push him into a panic.

He forced it away, pushing himself upright. “I’m--hang on, I...I’m coming,” he called, voice hoarse. He coughed, wincing at the cottony dryness in his throat. How long had he been in here...?

“Virgil?” the voice was muffled, but he recognized it as Logan’s, urgent and...frightened? “Can you hear me?” 

“Yeah--yeah, I...” 

“Virgil! Virgil, just try to stay calm! We’re going to get you out of there, I promise!” Roman’s voice, and Virgil had a sudden impression of what the fantasy princes and princesses must hear, when Roman rode in on his white horse to save them.

_Save...wait, what...?_

“I...okay...?” He shook his head, trying to make sense of things, and swung his legs over the side of the bed, blinking a bit dazedly around his room. Everything seemed to be in order...including, he noticed abruptly, the half-empty bottle of Mt Dew he’d left on his bedside table. He snagged it and downed it all immediately. It was a little flat, but it was _wet_ , and right now that was what mattered.

His attention was drawn to the doorway when another voice suddenly spoke up: “Verge? Kiddo, can you hear me?”

Virgil froze. _Patton...?_ That was Patton, it _had_ to be, but...but he sounded _awful_ , his voice cracked and broken and raw, and-- “Dad?” he called hesitantly.

“Oh God.” The voice broke in a half-laugh, half-sob. “Yeah, Verge, it’s me--I’m here, kiddo, I’m here, don’t...don’t you worry about a thing, we’re gonna get you out, don’t you worry for a _minute_...” his voice broke again, and Virgil heard the muffled sounds of sobbing.

Virgil was at a loss. What on earth was going on? Weren’t these the sides that had talked Thomas into taking medication to get rid of him? Why were they so upset, if--

Unless...

_Oh._

Unless the medicine hadn’t worked? Or maybe...maybe it had worked too _well_ , like when he’d tried to remove himself completely, and Thomas was acting like an idiot again and they needed him back...?

But...but why did they sound so...?

“Virgil,” That was Logan again, and yeah, even the logical side sounded off. Distraught. “There’s no door out here. We can’t get to you. What do you see on your side?” 

Virgil blinked, looking back toward the wall, and realized abruptly he couldn’t see a door either. He pushed himself out of bed and hurried to the place where the door should have been, reaching out and touching bare wall instead. And for a moment, the panic surged, bright and terrifying and familiar _._

_Trapped I’m trapped I’m--!_

But then he felt a gentle wave of something new inside his mind--something calm and soothing, something _confident_ , and he drew a deep breath and held it for a few moments before letting it out slowly.

 _I’m going to leave this room,_ he thought firmly, and as he did, the wall began to glow softly, a rectangle of light forming before his eyes.

“Wh-what’s happening?” 

“Is--do you see--?” 

“Virgil? Are you--?”

He reached out and closed his fingers around the air where the doorknob should be, and felt it solidify obediently under his fingers, coming into being at his command.

“What the--?”

“Patton, stand _back_ , we don’t know what--”

“Virgil?” 

Virgil closed his eyes briefly then opened the door, looking out at them from beneath his bangs. “Hey, guys,” he said quietly.

For a moment they simply stared at him, and in that moment, Virgil was able to take in little details--the way Logan’s tie hung loose and askew, or Patton’s face was streaked with tears, or the way Roman was brandishing his sword as if he’d planned to carve a new door himself--but he only had a split second to register all of this, because Patton cried out and flung himself abruptly into Virgil’s arms.

Virgil barely caught himself on the frame of his newly-reformed door, taking a bracing half-step backward as the moral side wound his arms around Virgil and buried his face in his shoulder.  

“Virgil!” he was wailing between gasping sobs, and one of his arms looped itself over Virgil’s shoulder instead so he could cup the back of his head, winding his fingers in Virgil’s hair. His other hand couldn’t seem to settle: it roved over Virgil’s back, pressing in between his shoulder blades, then down at the small of his spine, then his rib cage. All the while Patton was weeping: “Virgil, Verge, oh _kiddo_ \--!” 

“Patton,” that was Logan, and his voice--Virgil looked up, stunned when he realized he hadn’t imagined the way it had cracked. Logan’s face was red, his eyes watery, and he reached out immediately, grabbing Patton’s shoulder. Roman moved in on the other side and took Virgil’s arm, and together they pulled Virgil and the still-weeping, still-clinging Patton out of Virgil’s room. 

“Wh--what are you--?” 

“We don’t know why the room locked you in,” Roman said, and when Virgil turned to look at him he saw the prince was still brandishing his sword, glaring into Virgil’s bedroom as if some monster from the depths might burst forth and try to recapture him. “We need to get you away from here.”

“You--you think my _room_ \--?” 

“The door!” Patton wailed into Virgil’s shoulder. “The door disappeared! I couldn’t--it wouldn’t--I thought--!” He broke down again, holding Virgil tighter. 

“Ow. Pat--Dad--”

“He’s fine, Patton. You can let go of him now.”

“No.” 

“At least ease up. He still needs to breathe.” 

“Hey--Logan, lemme go!”

They were shuffling down the hall, toward the stairs, and Roman was still brandishing his sword at Virgil’s bedroom, and Logan was tugging at Patton’s arm insistently and Patton was tightening his hold on Virgil and it was all so absurd Virgil wanted to laugh or cry or maybe a little of both, but instead he said, very firmly:

“Okay, _stop_.” 

It worked. He was half sure it wasn’t going to, but it did. The others froze, and Roman turned to look at him, fierce and dangerous and heroic with his sword drawn and his body shielding them from the doorway; Logan stopped tugging at Patton’s arm and looked at Virgil instead, eyes a little lost; and Patton lifted his head, glasses sliding down his nose and cheeks ruddy with tears and upper lip shining with snot. They all stood silently, waiting for Virgil to speak again, and Virgil spared a moment to marvel at having their undivided attention like this.

“What’s going on?” he said at last, looking at Logan--the logical side was probably his best bet for answers.

Logan’s eyes darted briefly to the others then he said: “You were--your room, you were trapped. We were--I mean, we wanted--”

“We came to rescue you,” Roman offered, and his voice was quiet, a touch insecure as he frowned at Virgil. “Isn’t that--was that not clear?”

Virgil looked at Roman’s sword, then back up at his face. “Were you going to carve me a new door?”

Roman flushed, and--after a quick, suspicious glance back at the doorway--sheathed his sword once more. “We hadn’t figured that part out yet,” he mumbled.

“We weren’t exactly thinking very clearly,” Logan admitted, looking away.

Virgil stared at them, and that strange little flicker of hope that had first ignited itself when he’d been trapped--wherever he’d been, with that other part of himself that was still him now--it began to burn more brightly. He guarded it cautiously, unwilling to trust it completely but unwilling to let it die, either. Not before he had answers.

“Okay,” he said softly, looking at each of them in turn, “I...I think maybe we need to talk.” 

It wasn’t easy with Patton clinging to him, but Virgil managed to guide the group down the stairs and into the living room of the commons. He settled on the couch, and Patton immediately sat beside him, both of his arms wrapped around one of Virgil’s, his face buried in Virgil’s shoulder. He was still sobbing softly, and Virgil didn’t have the heart to push him away. Even if he _had_ said those things...he clearly felt bad about it now.

Right?

Logan settled onto the chair next to the couch, perched on the edge and staring at Virgil, a folded piece of paper clasped in his hands. Which, Virgil noted with some surprise, were trembling a little, the knuckles white and the paper buckling under the intensity of his grip. Virgil saw his own familiar scrawl on the back of the page-- _from Virgil--_ and lowered his eyes.

“I’ll...I’ll get you something to eat,” Roman murmured after a beat of silence. Virgil lifted his eyes again and looked up at Prince, who shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny. “If you want,” he added. “I mean, you were...you were in there for...or maybe a drink, if you...?”

“Water,” Virgil said at last, mostly to make Roman stop looking so...awkward. “Um. Thanks.”

 _Is this what it’s going to be like now?_ he wondered glumly, as Patton continued to sniffle into his shoulder and Logan looked anywhere but at Virgil and Roman bolted from the room at the first opportunity. Were things ever going to stop being awkward? Were they ever going to be the same?

_Probably not._

But maybe...they could at least figure out how to coexist. Maybe they could do that.

Roman reappeared with two glasses, one containing water and the other filled with ice cubes--crushed, the way Virgil preferred. He paused, then set them both down on the coffee table in front of Virgil. “I...I didn’t know if you wanted ice,” he offered after a second, before hurrying to the other armchair and sitting down, stiff-backed, his hands folded on his lap.

Virgil reached out for the glass of just water and took a long, grateful gulp. It wet his mouth much better than the flat, lukewarm mountain dew, and he sighed in relief before setting it down. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again.

 _What the hell am I supposed to say?_ he thought, fighting an urge to laugh. ‘ _Yeah, hey guys, so sorry your plan to kill me didn’t work out, can we find a middle ground instead?’_

But it was Logan who spoke first, finally breaking the horrible silence. “We, um...we found your note.”

Virgil glanced at him. Logan was staring at the paper in his hands. His fingers were shaking even worse than before as he unfolded it and set it on the table, where it sat, crumpled and sad.

“Yeah.” Virgil twisted his lips into a not-smile and shrugged. “I, uh...I mean. I...I left it for you guys.”

“Right. We, um...” Logan rubbed at the back of his neck. “We think there’s been some...misunderstandings, here.”

Against his shoulder, Patton sniffled. “You--y-you--you thou-thought wuh-wuh--yuh you thought we wuh-wanted...” Patton’s voice broke into fresh sobs, and Virgil glanced down at him, reaching over with his free arm to pat him on the head.

“Hey, it’s...it’s okay, Pat,” he said softly. “I get it. I do. I’m...I know I’m hard to deal with. I don’t blame you for wanting--”

“But we _didn’t_ ,” Roman said, his voice cracking. “We never wanted to suppress you, Virgil.” Virgil looked up at him and was surprised to see the agonized expression on Roman’s face--and shocked to realize there were tears in his eyes.

 _Roman was crying? Over...over_ him?

Apparently so.

“We never wanted--we _never_ wanted you _gone,”_ the prince continued, helplessly. “We just wanted to--” 

“We just wanted to _help_ you!” Patton wailed, finally sitting back so he could look at Virgil. His eyes were still streaming, wide and red, and there was so much pain on his face that Virgil actually gasped.

But then Patton’s words sank in, and Virgil frowned, bewildered. “Help-- _help_ me?” he repeated. “With _anti-_ anxiety medication?”

Logan sighed, removing his glasses and cleaning them with a handkerchief he pulled from thin air. “Yes,” he said softly. “Though admittedly...we went about it the wrong way.”

“How...how was medicating me away going to _help_ me?” 

“It was Logan’s idea,” Roman said, and when Logan glared at him, Roman held up a hand. “No, that’s--I’m not placing blame here, I promise.” He looked at Virgil. “Verge,” he said, voice quiet and serious as he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, “we’ve...we’ve been paying attention. More attention, since we learned your name. We--well, Logan, really--we noticed how...difficult things were for you, in ways we never realized before.” 

“Difficult...?” 

“Insomnia,” Logan said, and when Virgil looked back at him, the logical side had settled his glasses back onto his face and summoned a black leather-bound journal, which he was flipping through. “For starters. You average approximately 4.5 hours of sleep a night, and rarely sleep more than 6. You don’t eat enough. I know we’re sides and we don’t technically need food but you generally only consume 500-700 calories a day, if you eat at all. You suffer from night terrors and panic attacks on a regular basis--at least twice a week, though admittedly this study lacks longitude, as I’ve only been closely observing you for about six weeks. You demonstrate considerable distress during social situations, and practice a number of avoidance techniques, even with us. Even now. And you appear to be rather prone to catastrophic ideation.” 

Virgil was staring at him. “So what you’re saying,” he said slowly, “is I exhibit a number of symptoms of...” 

“Anxiety. Yes.” 

“It...it took you six weeks,” Virgil said slowly, something bubbling up in his chest--something he was very much stunned to realize was laughter-- “to determine that I, the _personification_ of anxiety, was suffering from anxiety.” 

“Well...erm. Yes.” 

“It’s not just that,” Roman said, and Virgil turned to look at him. “We always knew you were the personification of anxiety--that you _caused_ it. What we didn’t really realize was that you were also the _experience_ of anxiety. That you suffered from it, yourself.” 

“You didn’t...” Virgil blinked at him, then at Patton, then at Logan. “You really didn’t...know?” 

Logan averted his eyes, coloring slightly. “We hadn’t ever spent that much time together, before you told us your name,” he said.

“That’s why Logan wanted to try the medicine,” Patton said, eyes wide and watery as he looked anxiously at Virgil. “He thought it might help your symptoms.” 

“But...but I _am_ anxiety,” Virgil said, and his amusement died as quickly as it had arisen, replaced by a kind of sorrow. “I’m the _embodiment_ of anxiety. How could medication do anything but...get rid of me?”

“See, that’s where I think you’re wrong,” Logan said, sitting up on the chair. “I think you’ve evolved into Anxiety, but I think that you suffer from it as much as Thomas does, and I think--I think underneath the excess, you’re actually something else.”

“What?” Virgil frowned. 

“Caution, maybe,” Logan said. “Healthy fear. A sense of mortality. The things Thomas needs to stay healthy and safe.” 

“So you...you thought that the medicine...” 

“Would help you,” Roman said, nodding. “Yes. We--well, Logan, but we agreed--we thought it would let you do your job without...” 

“Suffering,” Patton whimpered, and when he blinked, two more tears trickled down his cheeks, magnified by his glasses. “We didn’t want you to keep hurting.”

Virgil sat still for a moment, trying to absorb everything, and shook his head slowly. “If...if you just wanted to help me...then why hide it?” he said, his voice cracking a little. “Why keep it a secret from me?”

Logan and the others glanced at each other, and Logan lowered his eyes again, looking ashamed. “I’m afraid that was my idea, too,” he said. “I was afraid if...if you knew, you might...influence the medication’s effectiveness.”

“Excuse me?” Virgil felt bile crawling up his throat.

“I...I wanted to observe you for awhile first,” Logan said, still unable to meet Virgil’s gaze. “I have been monitoring you already, so I figured I would know, if...if the pills were having a negative effect on you, and we could have Thomas stop them. But if they _did_ work...” 

“So wait,” Virgil said, lifting his hand. “You decided the best thing to do for me was...was to drug me without my consent?” 

Logan’s eyes snapped up, going wide, and his face drained of color. “N-no! I...”

“That’s _exactly_ what you just said,” Virgil said slowly, and something else was building in his chest now that definitely wasn’t laughter. Something cold and squirming and frantic--something that felt an awful lot like _betrayal_. 

“We were _going_ to tell you,” Logan insisted, voice breaking again. “Virgil, I _swear_. After a few weeks, if things were improving--”

“And if they weren’t?” 

“Then we were going to stop,” Logan said. “ _Immediately_.” 

“And did it not occur to you,” Virgil said, fingers curling into fists in his lap, “that if you didn’t _tell_ me I needed to be watching for certain symptoms, I might just _hide_ them? That I try to hide _most_ of my worst symptoms from you guys, so I don’t become more of a burden than I have to?” 

“I...” 

“Did it _also_ not occur to you,” Virgil continued, his words tasting like acid, “that by the time things were going wrong it might be _too late?”_

“Wait, you were...you were ready to cooperate when you thought we wanted to kill you--suppress you,” Roman corrected, glancing at Patton when he whimpered at the other word. “But now that you know we were trying to help you, you’re upset?” 

“Because when I thought you were trying to suppress me, I thought you _hated_ me,” Virgil snapped his voice a little strangled. Anger clawed at his chest, ripping at his heart, shredding it into painful bleeding pieces.

“But we _don’t_ hate you,” Roman insisted, eyes wide as he looked at Virgil. “That’s the thing. We _care_ about you.” 

“But you don’t _respect_ me,” Virgil gritted. He tugged his arm out of Patton’s grip and pulled himself to his feet. 

“Virgil, wait,” Roman said. “Please, can’t...can’t we just...?” 

“What? Move past this?” Virgil snapped, glaring at him. the anger was swelling in his chest like a balloon pushed full of too much air. It was an unfamiliar feeling, raw and powerful. He hated it, but it filled him with a kind of sick exhilaration, too, each self-righteous word fueling the fire until he was powerless to stop it. “Move past the fact that you don’t give a shit about my consent, even when it’s something that might hurt me? Move past the fact that you were going to watch me and take notes like I was a fucking _science_ experiment?” 

“It’s not like that,” Logan tried, but Virgil was on a roll now, and the clawing, squirming thing inside him would be satisfied. 

“No, it’s _exactly_ like that, Logan,” he snapped, whirling on the logical side, who sat back in the chair, eyes wide, clutching his black book to his chest. Some tiny voice deep inside Virgil begged him to stop; to just let it go and be grateful that they didn’t want him gone, that they wanted to _help_ him--but...

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t be grateful. Somehow, knowing they saw him as...as someone to care about, and that they _still_ decided to do this...that hurt so much _more_.

Because if they hadn’t cared at all--if they’d hated him, as he’d believed--then their actions would make sense. But...

But the fact that they claimed to _care--_ and in their way, Virgil believed they truly did--and still didn’t respect him enough to let him make his own decisions about something this important, about something that could potentially have _harmed_ him...

 _It did harm me,_ the silken voice inside him whispered. _The door was gone. I might have caused the schism that split me in two, but when I came back--the door was still gone. The room was already working to seal me in. To suppress me. And they couldn’t help. They couldn’t have saved me._

_They took that risk, knowing that might have been the outcome. Without asking me, they took a risk that could have...that almost..._

“Virgil, please, I’m begging you,” Logan said, his usually-cultured voice broken and brittle like shards of glass, “please, let me explain. It’s--”

“No,” Virgil said, and the anger was gone now. In its place was a kind of bone-deep sorrow. He shook his head, looking at Logan. “You had your chance to explain. You could’ve talked to me. You didn’t. I’m...I can’t...I can’t even be here right now. I...I have to go.”

“Virgil!” Roman rose to his feet, and Patton sobbed again. 

‘Kiddo, _please_...” 

“No. I mean it. I can’t...I can’t even look at you guys right now.” Virgil’s voice was barely above a whisper, and there were tears in his eyes as he stared at each of them in turn, knowing with horrible certainty that he would never be able to see them the same way again--that he would never be able to _trust_ them again. 

“I have to go,” he whispered. “Don’t worry about Thomas. I’ll still protect him. But I can’t...I can’t be here anymore.” 

Ignoring their cries of protest, he sank from the room, back into his bedroom, and waved a hand at the door. It closed and latched itself firmly, and he barely made it over to his bed before collapsing, curling around his pillow.

And in the solitude of his room, he sobbed.

*


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Depression, anxiety, cursing, yelling, fighting (tiny bit of physical fighting, but just a tiny bit), crying, possible claustrophobia

He wasn’t alone for long.

Only moments after he collapsed onto his bed, the pounding of feet on the stairs alerted him to the others’ approach, and he remembered, just a fraction of a second too late, that while he’d closed the door, he’d failed to lock it. 

It flung open hard enough that it slammed into the wall behind it, and Virgil couldn’t quite bite back a yelp at the sudden (and very loud) sound. 

“Guys, what the hell?” he demanded. He pushed himself up, staggering out of bed and squaring up to face them, wondering if maybe they’d come to tell him off. It was certainly the first time he’d ever spoken up against them like that, at least about something real, and his insides were still twisted into an uncomfortable, squirming mess about it.   


But to his bewilderment, the others didn’t look angry. And they weren’t even looking at _him_. Instead, they were darting suspicious glances around at the room, and the expressions on their faces were of...

Fear? 

No, not just fear, Virgil realized-- _terror_. Roman had his sword drawn once again, a look of grim determination on his face. Logan’s eyes were already growing shadowed, wide and dark beneath the fringe of his hair, and Patton was scurrying forward toward Virgil. 

“Kiddo,” he said, voice choked and tight and tense. “Please, you can’t--you can’t stay in here.” 

“It’s my room,” Virgil said, momentarily too bewildered to say anything else.  


“And it might seal you in again,” Logan said, looking over at him. “Please--if you want to yell at us, that’s fine, and if you need to be angry I understand, but please--not in here. It’s not safe.”   


_Ah_.

Comprehension washed through him abruptly, and Virgil would have laughed if he hadn’t felt so much like crying. He tugged his arm out of Patton’s grip, shaking his head as he realized what was really going on. 

 _Guilt_. That’s what this was about. Underneath that surface veneer of terror, what they _really_ felt was guilt. The medication they’d convinced Thomas to take hadn’t helped Virgil; it had sealed him up in here, trapping him in his own corner of Thomas’s mind. He’d fought it off long enough to escape once, but they were worried now that he wouldn’t be able to do it again, and they didn’t want that to happen. Not because they cared about _him_ , but because they didn’t want to have to live with the knowledge that they were responsible for it.

They’d decided to do this to him, and now they’d found they couldn’t deal with the consequences of their actions. He smirked, but there was absolutely no humor in the expression. 

“Safe or not, it’s my room,” he said, turning away from them and heading back toward his bed. “And you know as well as I do there’s nowhere else in Thomas’s mind I can stay. Not permanently.” 

“Wait!” Patton reached out and grabbed Virgil’s arm again, desperation in the tight grip of his fingers. “Please! Please, no one’s saying you can never come back. Just...just stay with us for now, just until we know _why_  the room is locking you in. Just until then, okay? Then you can come back here. And I’m sure Logan will have it figured out in no time, right, Logan?”   


“I...” Logan shifted nervously and pushed his glasses up, but nodded. “I’ll do my best.”   


“Of course he will. Of course! And it’ll be all fine and dandy again, it _will_ , but right now, please, we have to _go_. Okay?” Patton’s eyes were pleading and huge behind his glasses, shining with anxious tears, and there were dark smears beneath his eyes now too. 

 Virgil gaped at him. “What...what do you mean?” he asked slowly. Surely-- _surely_  they knew _why_  the room was locking him in. They weren’t so oblivious as all that, were they...? 

“Uh...guys?” That was Roman, his voice tight and anxious, and when Virgil looked at him, Roman was staring at the door. Since the others had come in, it had swung silently shut on its hinges, and as Virgil peered at it, he realized the edges were in fact beginning to fade. They’d shift a little, seeming to flicker, then solidify again. It was subtle, almost enough that he might have written it off as an illusion, except...  


Except he knew it wasn’t. The room was trying to seal again. And this time, it wouldn’t just be Anxiety getting locked away. 

“You guys should get out of here,” he said quietly, drawing away from Patton once again. “Before it’s too late.”   


“No!” Patton cried. “We’re not leaving you. We’re not!”   


“Why not?” Virgil said. He meant the words to be harsh, grating, but they came out broken and choked instead. His vision began to blur, and he dashed at his eyes angrily. “You can’t stand me anyway, so why not just leave me here and be done with it?”   


“Can’t stand--why would you--kiddo, _no_ , we--!”   


“The room is corrupting your reasoning,” Logan said suddenly. “Virgil. Everything we’ve done, we’ve done to  _help_  you. The room is trying to tell you otherwise. Don’t listen to it.”   


Virgil almost laughed, staring at Logan incredulously. “Seriously? You think the _room_ is the problem here? I thought you were the smart one.” 

“I can see no other alternative,” Logan gritted. Behind him, Roman moved to the door, tracing the flickering outline with one hand. “We told you. What we did was for your own good--” 

“You acted without my _consent,_ Logan!”  


_“--_ and you refuse to listen to our reasoning, when you are generally fairly open to logical lines of thought,” Logan plowed on, face red and eyes not quite meeting Virgil’s. “So I have to conclude, _logically_ , that you are being influenced by a force outside your own--”   


“Oh, _fuck you!”_  Virgil cried, and his voice tore, grating and raw, out of his throat. All the anger was back full-force, rising in him like sickening black bile, thick and poisonous. Around him, the lights in the room flickered and dimmed, shadows looming and swirling menacingly in the corners.Through the anger making his heart pound in his ears, Virgil could hear their ominous whispers. 

Roman took a halting step back from the door, swinging around to face the shadows, sword drawn and face pale. “This can’t be good,” the prince muttered. Beside him, Patton whimpered pitifully, distressed as he stared from Logan to Virgil. 

But Logan was staring at Virgil, unimpressed, it seemed, by the room’s sudden display. “Excuse me?” he said, voice low and carefully neutral. 

Virgil’s fingers curled into fists. He stalked slowly up to Logan, movements smooth and almost predatory, until they were standing practically chest to chest. Logan, to give him credit, didn’t back down, though up close, Virgil could see his lip quivering, and his eyes grow incrementally wider beneath the fringe of hair that now fell over them. 

He was afraid. 

 _Good_.   


“ _Fuck_. _You_ ,” he repeated. “Fuck you and your logic and your ‘for your own good’ bullshit, Logan. I’m fucking sick of it.”

Logan’s jaw twitched, but his eyes flickered away from Virgil’s. “I really don’t think there’s any need for profanity,” he gritted.

Virgil laughed, and it was a sound like glass crunching over gravel. “What do you suggest, then? That we talk it over like civilized people? Because I think you fucking missed your chance on _that_  one.”

Logan adjusted his glasses. “Clearly,” he said pointedly.   


Virgil growled. “Oh, get off your damned high horse!” he snapped, lifting his hands and shoving Logan, hard, so that the logical side had to take a few steadying steps backward. It didn’t feel as good as Virgil had hoped it would, especially not when he heard Patton’s sobbing grow louder behind them.   


“I will not fall prey to the influence of irrational emotion,” Logan gritted, brushing off his shirt and straightening his tie, though anger was, at least, flashing in his eyes now too. “I’ve already explained that we wanted to _help_  you, and--”  


“If you really wanted to help me, why didn’t you just _talk_ to me?”   


“Because you never listen!” Logan snapped, then blinked, looking surprised at his outburst. But he rallied quickly, and scowled at Virgil. “You _never_  listen,” he said again, a little calmer, but there was still an undercurrent of electricity in his words. Logan was angry. “Not when it’s something like this.” 

“Uh...guys?”  


“What the hell does that mean?” Virgil ignored Roman, still glowering at Logan. “Something like this?”   


“It means we’ve tried--how many times have we tried? To talk to you, to help you? And all you do is make some sarcastic comment or self-deprecating joke and brush it off, like we couldn’t possibly begin to understand what you’re going through, let alone really care about it.”  


“Guys!”  


“You don’t though, do you?” Virgil retorted. “Care, I mean. Oh, sure, you put up a decent front once you realized I mattered to Thomas, but you don’t _actually_ give a shit, right?”

“See, that’s not _fair!”_ Logan cried, his calm facade finally beginning to crack. “What the hell do we have to do, Virgil? What the hell would it take for you to _believe_  us, when we say we care about you?”   


“Oh, I don’t know,” Virgil spat. “Maybe, oh, um, _don’t try to drug me into something better than what I am?”_  


“Virgil! Logan! Would you two knock it off for a second?” Roman snapped.   


Neither Virgil nor Logan even glanced in his direction. “What do you mean, _better_?” Logan said. “No one is trying to _fix_  you, Virgil. We’re just trying to help!” 

“What is there to help?” Virgil cried. “I’m not a project or a puzzle, Logan, and I’m sure as hell not a charity case. I’m Anxiety.This--all of this--is me. _”_  He spread his arms. “Take it or leave it, but don’t try to _change_ it because it doesn’t fit in your neat little ideas about what I _should_ be.” 

He dropped his arms again and shook his head, staring at Logan. “I’m _Anxiety,”_ he said again. “I have nightmares and insomnia and not a lot of self esteem because _that is who I am._ Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m afraid this is just about as good as it gets.”  


“There, see? That. _That_ is your problem!” Logan said. “You assume things can’t improve. You assume--falsely, by the way--that you just...are who you are and that you have to suffer because that’s just...how it goes, oh well, nothing to be done about it!”

“Because there _isn’t_ ,” Virgil returned. Around them, the shadows swelled, creeping from the corners of the room and darting out at them menacingly. “This is just...what I am _.”_  


“No, it’s what you _do_. There’s a difference.” Logan scowled at him for a second, then shook his head. “You’re afraid, aren’t you? That’s what it is. You refuse to accept the idea that you can get better because you’re too afraid to try. Why, Virgil? Is it because you’re scared it won’t work?” 

“So what if I am?” Virgil shoved Logan again, and Logan batted his hands away, refusing to be budged, coming right back into Virgil’s space as the pair glared at each other. “Does that give you the right to override my wishes? To...to drug me without my knowledge or permission? Does...does...” his eyes were blurring now and his voice was choked and he hated it, but he pushed on: “Does my opinion only matter if it’s the same as _yours_?”  


Logan opened his mouth, staring. “That’s not _fair_ ,” he said again, after a few seconds. Virgil was gratified to hear the break in the logical side’s voice. 

“But this is?” he said, stepping backwards and holding out his arms, putting his room with its swirling, advancing shadows and whispers, and most importantly, it’s flickering door--on display. “You think _this_  is fucking fair, Logan? Subjecting me to this because you think you always know what’s best?”   


“Look, I’m _sorry_ , okay?” Logan exploded, so abruptly that Roman quit brandishing his sword at the shadows and turned to face them instead. Patton was still weeping, hugging himself, but he was making no move to try to stop them. Not now. 

“You’re...sorry?” Virgil repeated, stunned. Had...had he _ever_ heard Logan say that before? 

“Yes,” Logan gritted. “I’m _sorry_. You were...you were so _miserable,_ and you wouldn’t listen, not to me, not to anyone. You...you just hid away in here and pretended everything was fine because you didn’t want to burden us, and I knew--I _knew_  you’d never listen to me, not really, so...so yeah, I got desperate, okay? Because...” he paused for a second, then shook his head and stomped his foot, looking abruptly (and rather incongruously) like a five year old child having a tantrum. “Because I _love_ you, you asshole. And you’re _hurting_. I wanted to help you!” 

Silence descended between them. Logan was panting, staring at the ground, cheeks flushed and hands curled into fists at his sides. Virgil was feeling just as breathless, as the confusing swirl of emotions around him tried to find a home in his bruised, battered, and very bewildered heart. 

“You...you...”   


“Love you,” Logan growled, looking up at him, and fuck--there were tears on his face now. On _Logan’s_  face.   


Logan was crying, because of _him_. 

 _What?_  

“And you’re miserable. And I want to _help_ , and this...this was the only way I...” Logan shook his head abruptly and folded his arms, looking away. Virgil saw his ears going bright red.   


_Oh..._  

“It’s true, Verge,” Roman said softly. He’d stepped away from the door and moved to stand next to Logan, putting a hand on Logan’s shoulder. “We...we all wanted to help. And...” 

“And we went about it all wrong,” Patton chimed in, moving to Logan’s other side. To Virgil’s surprise, Patton’s face was no longer streaked with tears, and even the eye shadow under his eyes had faded a little. “You’re right about that. We made a big mistake, kiddo, and...and if you can’t forgive us right away, or at all, we’ll...we’ll understand. But if nothing else...know that we _do_ love you. So _much_.” 

Virgil stared at them, and his eyes blurred, and the anger shattered and he thought he might cry. Around them, the room’s shadows receded a little, but the door was still flickering dangerously. He glanced at it, then closed his eyes.

“You guys should get out of here,” he whispered. “Before...before...”   


“Not without you,” Logan said, and when Virgil looked up at him, Logan’s face was determined. When Virgil frowned at him, Logan lifted his hands in a ‘peace’ gesture. “No, I’m...I won’t force you to leave, if you...if you don’t want to. I get it. I...” he lowered his eyes. “I never should have tried this without talking to you. I do get it now. I was wrong. But...” 

“But we aren’t leaving without you,” Patton cut in softly. 

“No way,” Roman agreed. “We all go, or we all stay. End of story. Your call, Verge.”  


Virgil stared at them, then felt his tenuous control finally give way. He closed his eyes, bowing his head, and began to quietly cry. They weren’t the wracking, heaving sobs of before, but slow, almost gentle tears, as something inside him--some deep-seated, long-held tension, finally eased and gave way at last. He felt like he might simply collapse, cave in on himself and melt away entirely.  


Instead, the others moved forward, circling him, pulling him into a slightly-awkward but completely heartfelt four-way hug. He couldn’t reach out and return the embrace, not yet, but he let them hold him, weeping into someone’s shoulder while hands gentled him and stroked his hair and words of love and support were murmured into his ear. 

They might have stood there for minutes, or it might have been hours. But eventually, a different sound drifted to them, over the shared tears and whispered apologies: a soft grinding screech, like the metal tumblers of a large, complicated lock. It ended with a firm, solid _click,_ echoing with finality.

As one, they lifted their heads to look at the doorway.

“Oh,” Patton whispered.  


In the place where the door had been, there was now only a bare patch of empty wall. 

The room had sealed them in.   



	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An end, once and for all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is. An end, for better or worse! Thank you all for being so patient, and I hope the final installment of this monster doesn’t disappoint. 
> 
> CW: Panic, self-esteem issues, anger, fighting, some cursing. 
> 
> Pairings: Lamp/Polyamsanders (platonic), Analogical (platonic)

 

 

For a moment, they all simply stood, still locked in that strange group embrace, and stared at the door. Or rather, at the wall where the door had been. For that moment, no more than the space of a breath, the room was so quiet that Virgil could swear he could pick out their individual heartbeats. 

Then the moment passed, and a choked cry of disbelief and alarm broke the silence. 

“ _No!”_

Virgil pushed out of the circle of the others’ arms and raced to the wall. He pressed his hands to the bare expanse of plaster, desperately searching for an ingress, or a crack, or anything that he could force his fingers into and pry open again. 

But there was nothing. The wall was completely smooth, and the door was gone. 

[[MORE]]

“No!” Virgil cried again, and this time he lashed out, curling his hands into fists and slamming them into the wall as if he might beat it down himself. 

 _This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening_ , his mind chanted at him.  _He_ could be trapped, himself, sure--that was no big deal. Thomas could get by without Virgil as a physical presence, and Virgil could still do his job from the room, but...

But the others couldn’t. And too long in Virgil’s room would corrupt them, until all of Thomas’s personality traits were nothing more than twisted versions of themselves. They would be ruined, corroded by fear until they were nothing more than shallow husks of themselves. 

And Thomas...Thomas would be...

 _NO!_  

He slammed his fists into the wall with renewed vigor, hardly aware he was making strange guttural growling noises until he felt the hand land on his shoulder. 

“Virgil!” He was being pulled away. He struggled, but an arm encircled his waist from behind and he felt himself physically hoisted into the air, feet kicking uselessly as whomever it was wheeled him around to face the others--Logan and Patton. Roman set him on his feet, but stayed close, as if worried he might have to grab Virgil again. 

“It won’t do you any good to harm yourself,” Logan said, eyes wide and a little alarmed as he reached out, gripping Virgil’s shoulder. 

“Yeah,” Patton agreed, still looking frightened--but not, Virgil realized, for _himself_. “It’s okay, kiddo--everything’s gonna be okay.”

He blinked, staring at the others in bewilderment. Why weren’t they freaking out? Why weren’t they more upset? Why weren’t they _scared_?

“How the hell is it okay?” he uttered. “We’re _trapped._  We’re _all_  trapped! Thomas--”

“Will be fine,” Logan interrupted, frowning. “Virgil, the door disappeared before, and you recreated it, remember?”

“But...” Virgil frowned, turning back to the wall. It stared back, mockingly blank. 

“But nothing,” Roman said, sounding confident and self-assured, damn him. “You did it once, you can do it again.” 

Virgil shook his head slowly. What they were saying was technically true, and he knew, logically, it had only been an hour or so since he’d done it.

But...but _how_  had he done it? It all seemed so...fuzzy. Vague. 

And besides, it _mattered_  now. It wasn’t just him stuck in here, it was _all_ of them. If h e screwed it up...

He felt panic clawing at his insides, as he stared at the wall, and shook his head. “I can’t. I can’t, I...” 

“You _can_ ,” Logan said firmly, but Virgil thought he heard a waver in his voice, and when he looked over his shoulder, he caught Roman giving Patton an anxious glance. The others all had shadows under their eyes, and they seemed to be growing darker by the moment. 

“Just try,” Roman said after a moment. “Come on, I’ll help you. I do it all the time in my room.” 

Virgil wanted to point out that Roman was _creativity_ , and that making things appear and disappear out of thin air was _his_  specialty, not Virgil’s, but Roman had taken his elbow and was guiding him back to the wall. He found himself standing in front of the bare plaster again, Roman next to him and murmuring softly in encouragement. 

“Come on,” the prince said. “You can do it. Just picture it in your mind, and bring it into reality. I know you can do it, Virgil.” 

 _I can’t I can’t I can’t!_  a terrified voice in Virgil’s mind screamed, but he pushed it aside, gritting his teeth. He was not going to let fear get the better of him. Not now. Not when the others were depending on him, looking to _him_  to rescue them.

He moved to stand in front of the wall, and held out his hands, closing his eyes. He tried to visualize the door in his mind, picturing its familiar outline, the wood grain, the silver knob tarnished from years of use. He tried to visualize every detail, desperately trying to recapture that swell of confidence he’d felt before, when he’d called the door into being. 

Nothing happened. 

He sucked a breath in through his nostrils and gritted his teeth, squeezing his eyes closed and focusing _harder_. He could do this, dammit. He _had_  to do this. He couldn’t even begin to think about what would happen if he didn’t. 

_Unbidden, an image arose in his mind: the three of them, stuck in here with him, emaciated and pale; Roman too weak to lift a sword, unable to conjure anything but nightmares; Logan babbling nonsense and pulling at his hair as his mind and his sanity faded away; and Patton, weeping in terror, curled into himself in a corner and staring blindly at the horrors his mind conjured for him in the depths of Anxiety’s room..._

“ _NO!”_ Virgil cried aloud again, and he slammed his hands to the wall, chest heaving against the urge to hyperventilate. “Let them out! _Let them out!”_

“Virgil...easy,” Roman said, sounding worried. “It...it works better if you relax.” 

“How the hell can I relax?” Virgil cried. “You guys are--you’re stuck here, you’re _trapped_ , and we can’t even get word to Thomas to tell him to stop taking the medication, so you might all end up suppressed right along with me, and Thomas is going to be--”

“Whoa, whoa, wait,” Logan cut him off, frowning. “Medication?” 

Virgil whirled on him, scowling. “ _Yes,”_ he hissed, frustrated--wasn’t Logic supposed to be the smart one here? “Of course, the fucking medication, Logan. Why do you think the room keeps sealing?”

Logan tilted his head. “But--”

“But nothing,” Virgil cut him off. “The pills are closing off this corner of Thomas’s mind. That’s fine if I’m the only one in it, but you guys are going to end up corrupted if we don’t get you out of here.”

“Virgil.” Virgil looked up, startled, and realized Logan had approached him. The logical side reached out and put his hands on Virgil’s shoulders. “ _Listen_ to me,” he said. “The pills didn’t do this.” 

“What?” Virgil blinked at him. “Of course. Of _course_ they did, Logan. Why else would--”

“Virgil, Thomas hasn’t started taking them yet.” 

Virgil froze. His mind stopped so quickly he almost physically stumbled. “Hasn’t...what do you mean, he hasn’t...?” 

“I mean he hasn’t started them yet,” Logan said, lowering his hands and shrugging. “We’d...he wanted to...to talk to you. First. Before he started them.” Logan twisted his mouth and folded his arms across his chest. “I was trying to tell you that, before.” 

“But...” Virgil stared at the wall, then at Logan. “But I thought...I mean, I...I _saw...”_

_The images were there again, floating before his mind’s eye: the others, sitting around the coffee table, reading his note, discussing him in low murmurs of disdain and disappointment...retreating to the kitchen to make cookies, going about their lives, existing happily in his absence._

_But--_

_Not real,_  a voice whispered, and he closed his eyes, drawing a breath as the vice of pain around his heart finally eased and faded away.

 _I told you_ , the voice in his mind whispered smugly. _Didn’t I? I knew it wasn’t real. I knew they’d never really say those things._

 Virgil felt a curl of amusement in his mind. He smirked, and mentally gave his confident side the finger. 

“Shut up,” he mumbled aloud. 

“Um...pardon?” 

Virgil opened his eyes and realized the others were there, watching him, eyes shadowed and hair beginning to fall lankly over their foreheads. He  gazed at them for a few moments, taking in their appearances: Roman, usually so bold and fearless, gazing at Virgil with wide, frightened eyes; Patton, their happy-go-lucky self-proclaimed Dad, whose cheeks were stained with tears; and...

Logan. 

Logan, their logic, their reason--Logan, who had been _wrong_. Who had _admitted_  to being wrong. 

If all these things could happen...then maybe he, Anxiety, could change too. 

Maybe he _could_  get better. 

He closed his eyes and nodded to himself. They would leave here; he was certain of that now, but... but first something needed to happen. 

He stepped forward, eyes still closed, until he knew he was standing just before Logan.

“Logan,” he said. 

“Virgil?” Logan breathed softly in return. “What--what is it?” 

Virgil couldn’t open his eyes, but he found he didn’t have to. The words slipped free while he wasn’t watching. “I forgive you.” 

He heard Logan sob softly--a startled sound, choked off in the logical side’s throat--and then he felt a pair of arms wrap themselves awkwardly around his shoulders. Logan drew him in, leaning forward and tentatively resting his chin on Virgil’s shoulder, and this time, Virgil lifted his own arms and drew Logan in as well, returning the embrace. That was apparently all it took to bring down the logical side’s defenses, because Logan’s breath caught and he began to weep quietly, clutching at Virgil’s back. 

“Virgil,” he mumbled. “I...I’m...” 

“I know,” Virgil whispered. And he _did_ , now. Yeah, Logan had fucked up big time, but...

But Virgil had done that before. And the others had forgiven him--had worked to accept him for all his flaws. He could do the same for them, he realized. He _wanted_  to. 

That was what family _did_. 

He swallowed and hugged Logan tighter, rocking them back and forth a little on their feet, and felt Logan relax, little by little. After a few moments, a second, then a third pair of arms encircled them, and Virgil found himself locked, for the second time, in a comforting group embrace. 

“Not that this isn’t amazing, kiddos,” Patton murmured after a long, long time, “but...shouldn’t we be trying to find a way out of here?” 

Logan drew back and looked at Virgil, and Virgil smiled at him. 

“How about the front door?” Logan said. 

“Uh...Logan...?”

“Sounds good to me,” Virgil agreed, as if Patton hadn’t spoken. Logan stepped aside, and Virgil turned to gaze at the wall where the door should have been. 

And, after a second or two, a low grating sound echoed through the room, as the wall shifted and melted into the familiar wooden structure. The doorknob appeared last, accompanied by the metal scrape of a lock unlatching, and as they watched, the door swung open on its hinges, revealing the hallway beyond. 

“Oh,” Patton breathed, and when Virgil looked at him, there was a broad smile on his face.

“Yeah.” Roman was smiling too, his hand still resting on Virgil’s shoulder; he gave it a gentle squeeze, before moving away and heading out the door. Patton followed close behind him, leaving Logan and Virgil alone for a moment; Logan gazed at the open door, and smiled, turning to Virgil and holding out his hand. 

“Shall we?” he said softly. 

Virgil nodded, sliding his hand into Logan’s, and squeezing the other side’s fingers once. 

“Yeah,” he said. 

* 

Epilogue: _One Month Later_

* 

Virgil sat on the couch in the living room, sipping at a mug of coffee. Decaf--he didn’t need the caffeine anymore, he’d discovered, and he slept much better without it. Before him, Logan was scribbling something in a notebook, and Virgil watched, waiting patiently. 

“Okay,” Logan said at last, looking up at Virgil over the top of the little book. “So you’re averaging six and a half hours of sleep per night now--that’s much better. How long is it taking you to fall asleep?” 

Virgil shrugged. “After I put away my phone...I dunno. Twenty minutes? Maybe thirty?” 

“Down from an hour!” Logan sounded pleased. He made another note, then adjusted his glasses on his nose. “Excellent. Now. How has the frequency of your intrusive thoughts been? Any change?”

Virgil considered, then shook his head. “Not really,” he said. “I still get them. But...” 

“But?” 

“They’re...easier to recognize now. I mean, it’s getting easier to tell the difference between legitimate concerns I should report to Thomas, and...” he paused, and smiled wryly. “Cognitive distortions.” 

Logan returned the smirk. Then his expression softened a little. “And the nightmares?” he asked.

Virgil shrugged. “Down to a few a week instead of every night.” 

“Are you still having the one where we...?” 

Virgil closed his eyes, and the image flashed before him again: the others sitting on this very couch, laughing about him, calling him pathetic. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I don’t think that one is going away anytime soon, Lo.” 

“I understand. It was rooted in a very deep-seated fear.” Logan sounded a little sad, but he gave Virgil a reassuring smile all the same. “It’s okay, though. It would be unrealistic to expect you to be completely better overnight. Medicine isn’t magic, after all.” 

Virgil hid a smile. Logan had said that after every single one of their sessions. But he had to admit...it was nice to hear. He’d been worried, even after the incident in his room, that if the pills didn’t work, Logan and the others would be upset with him--that they’d think it was his fault. 

But that hadn’t happened. Instead, Logan had made careful records of his progress, pointing out changes he’d noticed himself and listening to Virgil’s own perspective. He’d been meticulous and careful, and more importantly, he’d been completely open with Virgil, sharing his findings and asking for input. Virgil felt cared for. More importantly, he felt _heard_. “I know, Lo.” 

Logan made one last quick note, then set the book aside. “Good. We’re still in the early phases here, but I believe preliminary results are quite favorable.” He looked at Virgil seriously, leaning forward and bracing his elbows on his thighs. “How are you, overall?” he asked. “Any concerns I should address with Thomas?” 

Virgil studied the logical side for a moment, feeling a now-familiar sense of warmth curling around his heart. Logan asked him that at the end of their sessions every single time, and Virgil knew that he would take any and all concerns very, very seriously. After a month on the medication, he had to admit he _was_  feeling better, but whether it was the medication itself or simply the great care and attention Logan had been putting into making sure he didn’t repeat his mistake, Virgil couldn’t say. 

Probably a little of both. 

“No, Logan,” he said after a moment, smiling at the logical side. “No concerns.” He paused, as Logan nodded and sat back to add that to his notes, then said, “Thank you.” 

Logan glanced up at him, and smiled back softly. “You’re welcome, Virgil,” he said.  

* 

_Fin_

*

 


End file.
